BARNYARD HEART

A rusty colored barn is twisted
in shambles
Half its body has blown out.
Its board feet have collpased upon each other;
the frame is a tribute to an era
when getting rich wasnt made by getting bigger
Instead by living honestly with routenily less
I think of all the factory farms,
those cuttthoarts who must have
promised fame in exchnage to tear down the barn
The home still stands beyond the barn
A row of double stacked hay bales insulates
the shelter from polar vortexes 
Flakes of white paint hold the stories
of thousands of chores- but today animals
no longer roam the vacant lot.
The home looks arthritically shaken
on this January day.  
I want to pull in through the drifts
to make sure the old farmer in his overalls
is warm, and has enough straw
to fill the spaces between his barnyard heart